What Do You Do When The Final Problem Has Been Solved?
by Blurring Fandoms
Summary: The Sherlolly scene we all deserved. Sherlock told her he loved her. She told him the same. What can you possibly do after all that.


"I meant it, you know."

Molly started as a deep voice rumbled next to her ear. She felt every muscle in her shoulders constrict—twisting ever tighter, as they had been doing every moment since that phone call.

That phone call.

John had explained. It was stupid and upsetting and she had been trying so very hard to push it from her memory. She didn't want to think about it. It hurt. I was a shard of a mirror that reflected a different world than the one she lived in, one where her dream that she and Sherlock could ever be together flourished. She had a small collection of those tiny mirror shards in her mind, and when things were quiet she'd pulled them out and turn them over in her hands, peering into them as deeply as she could. She always ended up bleeding.

Now, with that phone call came her resolve to push those shards away forever, to stop killing herself with the thought of a chance with the impossible Sherlock Holmes.

But his voice. The quiver when he told her he loved her. The passion. She had told him to say it like he meant it. He had. It had broken her. She knew it was fake.

Didn't know how, didn't know why, but she knew that he wasn't calling to confess his love for real. That didn't stop his voice from haunting her dreams.

This moment would probably haunt her too. She wanted to run from him, to flee from the pain. When Mrs. Hudson invited them all to dinner—the gang, she had said—Molly thought she could survive it. But now Molly could feel Sherlock standing right next to her, and he was muttering softly, lowly into her ear, and she thought she might truly die.

"Sherlock, please don't," she pleaded softly. She wasn't sure if he could hear her. She could barely hear herself over the pounding in her ears.

"I did. I meant it."

She whirled toward him, squeezing her eyes shut. "Sherlock, I'm telling you, please don't. I can't take it."

She heard him chuckle. How dare he? She opened her eyes to glare up at him, but the look in his eyes made her wish she had kept them closed. He looked so sad, so sorry.

"Won't you let me explain?"

Molly's eyes darted around the room. No one was paying attention to them, except maybe John. He was always paying attention, even if he didn't look it. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Fine. Tell me."

To her surprise, Sherlock took a deep breath as well. "I meant it, what I said."

"Liar," she bit out softly. She couldn't help it.

"Listen, listen, I did." She could picture the wave of his hands, even with her eyes closed. "I was forced to call you, of course. You know that. But what I said, the words, those were true, even if they were forced. Honestly, Molly, I'm surprised at you." Her eyes flew open and she opened her mouth to shout at him, but he raised his hands and his eyebrows. "You've been with me through so much, through cases and villains and my death and the drugs, and you've managed so flawlessly. You're so brilliant, after everything, I thought you knew." That quieted her.

"And I'm sorry, I'm so terribly sorry that it isn't in the way you want me to. I really am. But you're invaluable. You're my friend, and I don't have many. You mean so much to me, and the thought that I might lose you tore me apart. I do love you, like I love John and Mrs. Hudson and Rosie, more than I love Mycroft." He grinned at her and she almost smiled back.

"I can't make you any promises," he continued softly. "I can't say that if you just hang out and keep loving me like you do that someday I'll love you back. I can promise you, though, that I will always love how brilliant you are, and how much you do for me, and how unapologetically you you always are. You're dear to me, and I love you."

Molly felt tears pricking at her eyes. Her heart was screaming that it wasn't good enough, that nothing would be good enough. But her mind was telling her slowly and softly that punishing Sherlock for something that wasn't his fault would only push him away, and she wanted to keep him in spite of herself, her pain.

"I would say it back, but it wouldn't be the same. You would know how I meant it. But thank you." She had to squeeze her eyes close to keep the tears from spilling. She didn't see him reach out to pull him to her.

"My strong, brilliant, lovely Molly. I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry you're stuck with me." His chest rumbled as he chuckled again, and it warmed her to the bones even as it hurt her.

Her heart didn't think she could stand it. Her mind was certain she could. "You're strong," it said. "You've know that since long before Sherlock Holmes told you. You can stand anything." Sherlock released her, and she peered up at him, at the vulnerability there.

It hurt, but she would survive it.

* * *

A/N: I wanted to write smut, I really did, but in my heart of hearts, this felt more _right._ I love the angst. If you wrote post-TFP Sherlolly smut, feel free to direct me to it though!


End file.
